Still and Silent
by Ava Monroe
Summary: Immobilité means motionless or stillness. This is a ficlet set after fifth year in which Harry comes to terms with his grief through silence and observation. R&R please! Complete.


**Still and Silent (1/1)**

**By Ava Monroe**

**Disclaimer :** The characters that have so graciously decided to participate in my ficlet are the exclusive property of Ms. JK Rowling et al. They all learned their lines very well and I'm pleased with their performance.

**Author's Notes:** This is my first attempt (emphasised!) at fanfiction. I know that ficlets don't tend to draw audiences or much feedback, but I'd gratefully appreciate any comments (hopefully constructive, but beggars can't be choosers!) that you have to send my way. This is a one-shot. It's set in the summer after fifth year, and sorta disregards everything that JK Rowling has said about Harry's upcoming summer. But since the sixth book isn't out yet, all's fair game! I wanted to call it 'Immobilité,' but the site wouldn't let me. So Still and Silent it is! Thanks for reading! Ava :)

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It became, after weeks of bitter mourning, hot tears and brutal self-recrimination, easy to sit in silence for long periods of time. The Dursleys barely failed to notice the changes in their young ward. After all, it's much easier to ignore the existence of somebody when they're helpfully quiet. Petunia Dursley, however, did notice something small about her nephew. His vocal silence gradually extended to stillness. He breathed more lightly. He never coughed, avoided sneezing and never laughed or cried out loud.

Though his eyes never rested. They followed the slightest movements, watched every tick and shrug and motion of their subjects. The green, that so reminded Petunia of her sister, was sharp and canny. Harry Potter was focused on everything while seemingly interested in nothing. It made Petunia uncomfortable. So while everyone else at Number 4 Privet Drive was content to simply pretend that Harry never came home for the summer, or even better, never came to them at all, Petunia regularly sent him on his way.

"Go outside. Comb your hair, don't talk to any of the neighbours. Go outside."

After a few days of the same snarled orders, it became routine. Harry woke up in the morning, grabbed some toast, combed his hair (to no end), and went outside. At first, he stayed in the yard. He sat under the privet bushes and silently watched the neighbours go about their lives. A couple of days later, he ventured further. He walked to the play park and sat under one of the large oaks and watched the kids playing of the equipment. He watched dogs on walks and women chatting as they rocked their buggies. He listened to children laughing and crying as they played or fell on the playground. He wondered at the squirrels that launched themselves from tree to tree, fighting over acorns and hiding from the dogs on their walks. Everyday, for two weeks, Harry went to the park at precisely nine o'clock. For 2 weeks, Harry sat and observed. And he learned.

He learned that Mrs. Nichols from Number 7 Wisteria Walk had a baby girl in April and named her Rachel. Harry never saw Rachel himself. Mrs. Nichols was a little obsessive and wouldn't let any of the other mothers take her out of her buggy. He noticed that Jacob and Paolo loved to throw gravel at the Rebecca, Nisha and Carly, but snivelled like little Slytherins when Rebecca pelted them back. Harry had a particular interest in Erica, a bossy four year-old, who loved to tell the other children when they could have a turn on the slide. Kelsey and Matthew Hodgins, twins that lived five houses down from the Dursleys, never listened to Erica. Still, every day, she numbered them "Kelsey is sixth, Matthew is seventh." Most of all, Harry watched the interactions of the people stopping for a break at the play park.

On August 3rd, Harry's routine changed rather suddenly. Instead of silently observing the passing world, Harry was engaged by it. At 11:13, somebody sat beside him. Slowly and quietly, Harry turned his head and focused his sharp eyes on the person sitting next to him. He took his measure and then turned his head away. They sat side by side for another two hours before Harry kept to his routine and left the park at one o'clock.

The next day, at eleven, the same person noisily sat beside Harry again. Harry turned and looked, locked eyes and then turned away. They sat in silence together until one o'clock.

On the 5th, at 10:30, Harry's guest joined him again. Harry glanced to his left from the corners of his eyes. The following day, the stranger to Privet Drive, arrived at ten. This time, Harry didn't turn his head.

On August 7th, the same person joined Harry at nine o'clock. They sat in silence for four hours, until Harry stood up with barely a rustle of fabric, and walked home. For three days, the same person joined Harry at precisely nine o'clock. For three days, not a word was spoken and not once did Harry look at the man again.

One day, however, this new routine was broken. Harry settled onto his patch of grass beneath the oak tree. Nobody sat beside him. At ten o'clock he was still alone. By noon, he began to feel restless. At 12:38, for the first time since June, Harry made noise. He fidgeted. He sighed, and ran his right hand through his hair. At 1:27, almost a half hour behind schedule, Harry got up and left the play park.

The next day, the twelfth of August, at nine o'clock, Harry returned to his spot. No one joined him.

On the thirteenth, Harry arrived to the park restless and uncomfortable. He sat down quietly, rolled his shoulders to relieve some tension and began his observations. At ten, he cracked his knuckles. At eleven, he looked at his watch. At 11:25, somebody sat next to him.

"I thought weren't coming," said a low, gravelly voice. For the next couple of minutes, the calm silence that had enveloped Harry for the past month and a half became tense and deafening. The guest took a breath, cleared his throat.

"I did, though." They returned to their silence for the rest of the morning.

The following day, the man joined Harry promptly at nine. For almost four hours, they sat in their familiar silence. Harry watched the people who stopped at the play park for a break from their daily lives. The man watched the crowds, watched the animals and watched Harry. At one, when Harry stood to leave, the man took his turn to break the silence.

"I have a question. What is there in this park that has captivated you for the past two weeks?"

Harry paused for a small, small moment. He didn't speak, he didn't look towards the man, but still, he had paused before continuing on his way back to Number 4. The man sighed and watched his young friend's retreating figure.

On August 15th, Harry received a mixed blessing. An owl arrived from the Weasleys bringing news of "a release from prison" as Ron called it. Mr. Weasley would arrive at three o'clock on the sixteenth to bring him to Burrow for the last weeks of the summer. With the weight of isolation lifted, Harry went to the park where he was joined by his companion. He sat in stillness and in silence for the next four hours before rising at one. The man did not repeat his question from the day before. He just smiled his farewell. Harry cocked his head, nodded, and left.

On the sixteenth, Harry made his way to the play park for the last time for the summer. It was a bittersweet visit. He was relieved to be leaving the Dursleys, even if he didn't vocalise it. However, he liked his hours of solitude, something that he'd never find in a million years at the Burrow. And he liked sitting beside the man who quietly provided friendship and companionship without demanding anything in return and only having ask one question.

And so, on the sixteenth, Harry arrived at park at eight o'clock. He sat under his tree for an hour on his own. He watched Mrs. Nichols bouncing little Rachel in her stroller as she cried and screamed like only babies can. At nine, the man sat beside him. Once again, they waited while the time passed. At one, Harry didn't move to leave. He looked around for a few more minutes then he stood. He took a step away. Then paused. Harry cleared his throat and sighed. He turned and caught his sharp, detail-oriented eyes to the quiet, patient ones of his friend.

"I don't really know."

"You don't know what, Harry?"

"I don't really know what it is about here." He stopped, swallowed, and with his rusty voice, continued. "It's just, well, there's something. All these mums and dads pushing their strollers and holding hands with their kids. And all these dogs bouncing around and chasing the squirrels. And Erica screaming 'You're sixth, not second, Kelsey! Sixth.'" He swallowed again. "What is it?"

"What is what?"

"What is it that I see here, Remus? That's what you asked me yesterday. What is it that I can't turn my eyes from? Why is it so interesting? What the hell is it? Why did it make me sad and angry? So angry I could explode."

"It could be anything. It could be youth, innocence, energy, love, affection, possibility, ignorance," Remus gestured with his hands, seemingly grasping words from the air. "Friendship, uh, anger, order, chaos… So, what is it? Why does this upset you? Why do you spend so many hours here? Why haven't you spoken to, or written to anyone for the entire summer? Who do you blame?"

"I haven't forgotten him."

"No. Neither have I. Neither will I. But you can grieve, find comfort, and move on. He wouldn't begrudge you that."

"He should. I do. He should."

"He was never a petty man when it counted, Harry. He was never like that with the people he loved. And he damned well loved you."

"I should have learned faster, I should have tried harder…" The words came poring out. The words and anger that Harry had trapped in his stillness and in his silence for over six weeks until Remus Lupin stopped them with one quiet word.

"Enough. Harry, you did enough. You tried and tried. You did all we could ask for, all we had the right to demand. You didn't fail Sirius. You didn't fail anyone. Is that what you've been seeing, is that what you've been thinking in your mind for weeks now? That we blamed you?"

Harry breathed quickly and loudly, in and out, in and out. His eyes darted around, fast like a hummingbird, unable to focus on anything in particular. Gradually, he calmed himself down and brought his eyes back to Remus'. He swallowed with difficulty, and picked up the thread from a different place.

"It doesn't upset me."

"What!"

"The park. It doesn't upset me. I said it _did_ upset me. But what I see here doesn't upset me anymore. It made me angry and sad for awhile. Then one day, it stopped." Harry started to walk away, back to streets beyond the park when Remus called after him. He turned and faced Remus again.

"Why?"

"Why?" He repeated. "You sat beside me and I knew at least one person didn't blame me." Harry spoke quietly while walking backwards slowly. "And from your list? Possibility."

Harry turned back around and continued towards Privet Drive. Remus called again.

"What list?"

"You asked me what I see here. I see possibility."

La fin.


End file.
